


The Problem with Champagne

by Lizzen



Category: Actor RPF, The 100 (TV) RPF
Genre: Angst, Champagne, F/F, Pining, RPF, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 08:18:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7162028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizzen/pseuds/Lizzen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Here’s the thing about the business. It's <i>business</i> and feelings aren't allowed to come into play.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Problem with Champagne

**Author's Note:**

> one hears things that writing rpf in this fandom is a wee bit taboo; so, sorry about that. please note that this is completely and utterly fictional. except the bits about champagne. those bits are true af. 
> 
> thx to a&a&m xxoo [champagne emoji]

**VANCOUVER, AUGUST 2015**

Here’s the thing about the business. It's _business_ and feelings aren't allowed to come into play. 

They tell her on a Sunday, tell her how and when her character will come to an end, and she's all smiles and nods and "of course" and "thank you" and her heart just aches. Alycia says: "It has been an honour to portray her." 

*  
ET: **SUCKS**  
ADC: **sucks**  
ET: **I'm coming over with veuve**  
ADC: **I dont have glasses?**  
ET: **fuck glasses**

*  
**_Veuve Clicquot Brut Yellow Label_. From Montagne de Reims in Champagne, France. Blend of Pinot Noir, Pinot Meunier, and Chardonnay. Flavor notes: freshly made brioche, sharp green apple, and candied lemon zest. Classic méthode champenoise. 12% alcohol. Retails around $45-62. **

*  
With two jam jars in hand, Alycia meets her at the door. Moments like these are ones to remember; she won't get to live five minutes away from Eliza much longer. So she puts on her widest smile. 

Eliza looks defeated but holds up two bottles with a determined ferocity. "In memoriam."

"Yes, and please," Alycia says. 

They don't hug, which is unusual, but Alycia feels on edge. It's not like she was fired, hell, this is her fault for being ambitious beyond a reoccurring character on the CW. But something still is twinging inside of her belly. 

With one bottle in the fridge to stay cool, the other is opened and the jam jars are filled to the brim. 

Eliza raises hers for a toast. "To you," she says and drinks up like she's mourning someone who's dead.

Alycia takes a slower, smaller sip. If they're really going to get tanked on champagne, she better pace herself. Veuve goes down easily, too easily, and soon your knees get all wibbly. There's bottles of water, and a bit of sourdough in her kitchen as well as vegemite. She'll keep her head, she thinks. Somehow.

It's not discussed over the first, second, third glass. They talk about roommates and gossip and dream vacations and the weather. They talk about anything that isn't how Alycia will leave the show. 

It's something she wants to talk about, sure; she wants to scream about it, a little, and maybe she'll be able to one day. It's something she's not allowed to be bitter about, but there's almost the taste of bile in her mouth when she thinks about it. Lexa is something special. She'll never get to play a character like this again; someone with so much strength and poise and power. She's going to be the teenager for the next five years; boring teenagers with boring angst and boring vulnerability.

Alycia corrects herself: she's going to be a well-paid actress on her route to bigger and better roles. That's what she's going to be. Downgrade in character for an upgrade in promise. 

She finishes her glass, and finds herself staring at Eliza's face as Eliza talks and talks. Here's the other problem. Alycia is not just losing Lexa. There's Eliza, and working with her, and her effervescent energy and this incredible closeness. Intimate colleagues so often fall apart when they move away, as distance and new roles divert attention. 

She could say, she could interrupt with these thoughts. Say: "I'm going to miss you." Say: "It's been such a wonderful thing to work with you." Say: "You're amazing." And mean every word. 

Instead: "Bottle number two?"

Eliza cheers and drinks down her glass. "Bottle number two!"

*  
**_Pol Roger Réserve Brut_. From Vallée d'Épernay in Champagne, France. Blend of Pinot Noir, Pinot Meunier, and Chardonnay. Flavor notes: honeysuckle, hazelnut, and lemon curd; refined and luscious. 12.5% alcohol. Retails: $55-75. **

*  
"So, this was a gift," Eliza says. "I don't know anything about it. Don’t judge if it sucks."

It definitely doesn't suck. It's actually pretty amazing. Alycia feels tipsier and braver just sipping on it, fresh and cold bubbles sliding down her throat. 

Eliza throws it back and then burps. "Champagne problems," she says and Alycia smiles. 

There's a roof over her head and money in the bank because she pines after this woman for a living; that's literally her job. She's fond of Eliza, sure, very fond. As fond as you can be of your leading lady, you know, without consequence. So, it's new territory to think, just a little, about being overly fond. About feeling something else. Drinking, and drinking bubbles, is no help. 

Especially delicious ones, and she pours a second glass and stares briefly at the perfect lines of bubbles streaming from the bottom of the glass to the top. Truly, they are drinking the stars. 

There's a certain sweetness in how silly you can get on champagne. Makes you feel almost safe. 

Alycia tells a particularly stupid story about nothing important and it slowly creeps up on her that Eliza's been quiet; quietly sipping at her drink, quietly listening, quietly moving in a little closer after refilling her glass. 

"What's up?"

Eliza doesn't crack a smile. "Here's the thing," she says. Alycia can smell the wine on her breath. "I don't want you to leave. I knew it was going to happen but I don't like it."

"Yeah?"

"It's not fair and I'm scared of where this is headed. It's just a dark place."

It's fair to say that Alycia hasn't considered how Eliza feels about her leaving, how Eliza feels about having to play Lexa's demise. And she feels guilty for not having asked. 

And that's when Eliza says: "I just don’t want you to go."

Alycia blinks. "Hey, are we rehearsing a scene or are we getting drunk?"

Eliza bites her lip. "I don't know," she says and she puts down her glass. "I don't know what we're doing." The moment lengthens, expanding on itself, multiple possibilities on the verge of occurring, and Eliza is leaning in close, close enough to kiss. 

There is just enough alcohol in her that Alycia doesn't immediately freak out. This is something to weigh and measure, as best she can when the room is slightly off kilter and your friend's lips are inches from your own. 

There are options. She can gracefully duck out of this; alcohol is a flawless excuse for this sort of behavior. She can laugh, she can move, she can avoid this. She should do one of those things, certainly. Kissing Eliza has a thousand consequences.

There are options. 

And Alycia pushes in, just the inch or so closer, so that their lips meet. 

They've done this before, of course. On a set under hot lights and surrounded by colleagues and mouth breathers and the set crew. But Alycia's apartment is quiet. All she can hear is Eliza breathing in and out, and the racing of her own heartbeat.

It's nice; little soft touches of her lips pressing against Eliza's. She doesn't open her mouth, that's a step in a certain direction, but she wants to. Waits to do it. 

There's no real mystery in what Eliza tastes like, it's champagne. But Alycia wonders all the same. 

Eliza's fingers run along Alycia's arm, fingernails brushing against skin, and then she's holding Alycia's face in her hands. Eliza pulls away for a moment and her gaze is so dark. It's a pretty sort of sigh as Eliza breathes out before pushing in with an open mouth to kiss Alycia again. 

It's rougher and wetter now, the relentless litany of pressing lips to lips. Alycia finds herself breathing harder with her drum of a heart and the shiver in her knees. She could let go, let go and feel a little of what Lexa would feel in this moment. She could, you know, _rehearse_. It's a deliciously dangerous thought, but Alycia ignores it. 

See: Alycia wants Eliza all for herself. 

Here's what it's like to kiss Eliza: something breathless and exquisite; delicious tasting and from more than just the champagne; a shocking surprise to the system; dipping into a deep well (deeper than you thought it was) of feeling; a twist in the gut and a fever in the skin; a beautiful, addictive sensation. 

As make outs go, drunken or otherwise, this is up there in the top five, top two maybe. 

If she's being honest, Alycia wants more than kisses. She wants this to continue down the path to a more interesting entanglement on the couch. She wants to kiss more than just Eliza's lips. She wants to touch the swell of Eliza's breast. She wants to know what Eliza sounds like when she comes. 

But her head is swimming and she may not be dexterous enough for much else than a good pash. Maybe in the morning, she thinks and ignores it. Ignores all impulses other than to be lost in Eliza's mouth.

(Soon after, they're kissing again under hot lights and with a billion people staring at them, filming them, yelling if they miss their marks, and it's so different. Of course it's different. And it makes Alycia ache just a little more for herself, and for Lexa; it makes it easier to cry on cue.)

There's more than one problem with champagne as Alycia finds herself just clinging to Eliza and breathing slowly, her kisses slowing to a gentle pressure now and then. Her eyelids are heavy, and sleep sounds like the best idea imaginable. Hard to picture them finishing that gorgeous bottle now. Hard to picture them disentangling from the couch now. 

"Mmm, hi," Eliza intones quietly. And something like a straight up cuddle happens, with Eliza's face pressed against Alycia's neck, limbs half askew, half entwined with hers. "I don't want you to go," she breathes in Alycia's skin. And all too quickly there are Eliza's quiet snores in her ear. 

Alycia thinks: oh. shit.

*  
In the morning, she makes blueberry pancakes and coffee, god, lots and lots of coffee, and she lends Eliza some fresh clothes and a hair tie and some lip gloss. And they talk like colleagues with a show to shoot and friends with an unspoken secret. Which is fine. It's completely and utterly fine, she thinks with fierce finality to her resolve. 

When she leaves, Eliza kisses almost the corner of Alycia's lips simply, blithely, and there's not a hint of a blush in her cheeks. 

*  
_We're like super close. She's great. I worked with her the most out of everyone on the show, so we definitely got close._

*  
**LOS ANGELES, MARCH 2016**

Here’s the thing about the business. It's _business_ and feelings aren't allowed to come into play. 

Her face is all over entertainment news from internet blogs to legit media. She keeps her expression serious and nods when appropriate and tries to spin things positive and "this issue is so important " and "thank you" and her heart just aches. Alycia says: "It has been an honour to portray her." 

*  
ET: **Coffee?**  
ADC: **I have some cava in the fridge**  
ET: **YUM**  
ADC: **Come over, boo**  
ET: **yes and thank you**

*  
**_Naveran Brut Vintage_. Cava from Catalyunya, Spain. Blend of Xarello, Macabeu, and Parellada. Flavor notes: white peach, pastry, honey. Great everyday sparkler. 11.5% alcohol. Retails around $13-18. **

*  
Eliza raises her eyebrow when she sees the bottle. "Gorgeous label, but I thought champagne was our thing?"

"I spend my money on Manolos," Alycia says before stopping. Thinks about opening her mouth and then she just says it. "We have a thing?"

Eliza grins. "Let's have a taste first."

Then it's all as it should be: bubbles poured, shoes off, feet up, on the couch; classic besties position. 

Small talk about roommates and filming turns to diving deeper into discussing "Fear", which turns into total silence from Eliza as Alycia talks and talks. Talks briefly about The Reaction, but they've talked about that enough over late night texts anyway. Not much else to say about that other than a wince.

What's happened to their characters has lit an unquenchable fire outside the realm of their control. It's both scary and also so completely separate from them. There's a certain powerlessness in being an actor. 

Alycia takes a sip and notices Eliza's face: she's smiling something slight and shy and somewhat secretive. "Sometimes I drink champagne and think of you."

Alycia says, intelligently: "Oh."

And she remembers all the times that she's done the same; at events, at dinners, at home where it's dangerous. At home where a glass can lead to a bottle which can lead to lying in bed with your hand between your legs. 

"Do you want to—"

The question is open and too early in the night and Alycia does, oh god, she wants. She delicately sips at her drink instead. "Do you?"

"It's a bad idea, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

The ensuing silence is odd, and as it lengthens, Alycia feels a marked distance grow between them. A safe distance. 

"I need a top up. You in?" Eliza says, raising her half full glass. 

"Mmm."

There are decisions to make here, and it doesn’t help that bubbles are in her system again, reminding her and encouraging her to act. And Alycia hates making decisions.

So she lets go, lets the feeling take over instead, and in moments, she's followed Eliza and crowds her in against the kitchen countertop. "Just c'mere," she says and gets her hands in Eliza's hair and kisses her with a surprising gentleness for someone love-starved. Eliza freezes for only a moment before opening her mouth and giving back with the dirtiest kiss Alycia's had in months, maybe ever. And it goes on, and on, like Eliza can't have enough of her mouth. _It's yours_ , she thinks helplessly. _I could be yours._

There's something miserable about having the best kiss you've ever experienced. There's something miserable in having begun the makeouts on half a glass of cava. Alcohol cannot be blamed in this situation. 

Eliza opens her mouth and says her name. "I just miss you," she says and then laughs, blushes scarlet. "I don't know. I don't want to talk about it. I just. This is a scary, feely place."

Alycia's chin rises and falls in the smallest of nods. 

This is another one of those moments where Alycia could pull away and laugh and they'd laugh together, all pink cheeks and downward glances and shy giggles and they could finish the bottle and finish their talk as friends. It would be safer this way. 

Fuck safety, she thinks and answers Eliza's panic with the sweetest kiss. There's something in this that feels like soaring in the clouds without a parachute in the inevitable descent. She finds one of Eliza's hands and squeezes it. "Hey," she says. "I'm right here with you."

"Thank god," Eliza whispers before kissing back with a delicious ferocity.

Alycia's mind sort of goes on the fritz; emotion and sensation unify in such a way that concentration and logic go out the window. So, it takes some time, some give and take, but soon, Alycia has Eliza mostly clothed in her bed. 

Here's the thing. Alycia's started something and she's damn well going to finish it. 

They're both a little shy with touches, but the heat of their kisses is searing with promise. It's getting hard to breathe between the kissing and the anticipation. And it's not like she's experienced at this sort of canoodling but she knows the feel of her own fingers and what she likes when a boy gets between her legs. She can manage this, and what's more: she really, really wants to.

"Tell me stop," Alycia says and her hands wander with purpose and intent. Eliza answers with a kiss and with a helpful hand to get her pants undone and out of the way. Alycia's resolve is iron tight now, and her fingers find their goal. 

Eliza is wet, almost embarrassingly so, and Eliza's blush would be adorable if Alycia wasn't so utterly consumed with the urge to fuck her as hard and fast as possible. It's a heady sort of feeling, somewhat unpleasant and also utterly exhilarating. 

What she does, however, is play. If she only gets to do this once, she's going to do it right. Soft, circular movements against Eliza's clit as her kisses slide down to Eliza's neck. Alycia's rewarded with the arch of Eliza's back and the trembling of her limbs and some very lovely sighs. "More," Eliza breathes and her hand clutches at Alycia's arm, fingernails digging into skin. 

Moving fast and gentle, she works Eliza into a sweat and an impatience that turns into something even better. 

Alycia is hovering over her just when Eliza comes for the first time, and it's wondrous. A tightening in her face, the spread of her mouth opening, the unintelligible words on her lips, the flash in her eyes, and the sudden warmth in her gaze. 

It's then when Alycia pushes her long fingers in, and Eliza's eyes roll back a little. Eliza breathes out and juts her hips to match Alycia's steady rhythm. A measured intensity from one builds the blissful satisfaction of the other; Alycia's careful attentions result in the satisfying clench and release, clench and release, of Eliza's heat. And in her ensuing pride, Alycia's glad her mind isn't swimming from too much booze. There's too much to watch, too much to take in, too much to lock into memory. 

Eliza reaches low to clasp Alycia's hand and brings it to her lips so she can suck just a little at Alycia's wet fingers. "You're good," she says. "You're so good." 

Alycia grins. Fair praise.

Eliza looks at her. "But I'm better."

Minutes later when Alycia's on her back, legs apart and Eliza's tongue pressed against her clit, Alycia is torn between saying: "true" and "I want a rematch." What she actually says is: "fuck."

Here's the thing about being eaten out: the initial awkwardness shifts immediately to an overwhelming rush of pleasure and a rising desire to be consumed by the sensation. And if you're lucky, and if your partner keeps the pulse direct and constant, you will be fire and flame and completely lost. Bliss can be sustained for a long period and you feel overcome with the intimacy of it all. Alycia's fingers find sheets to cling to, and it's all she can do to hold on to some semblance of reality as Eliza's tongue takes her to unexpected heights. 

Alycia wishes that they could be brutally honest: if they could commit to the feeling; if they could say forbidden words; if they could just be goddamn naked instead of this half clothed circus.

Alycia also wishes for some dignity as she cries out her pleasure, filling the room with sound. 

Eliza looks up from between her legs and the self-satisfied grin on her face is just rude. 

In all her other entanglements, this is the time where Alycia usually says something damningly vulnerable. Some sentiment previously guarded in her heart and unlocked by really invigorating sex. 

Instead she says: "Get up here."

Kissing Eliza is different now. Slower and languid, gentle and deep. There's no rush to the finish line, no rush to return to reality where they're friends and colleagues and not supposed to be doing this. It's nice, the sweet safety of this liminal zone.

At any point, either of them could renew attentions, spark desire, and bring back the chaotic pursuit of pleasure. A woman can go all night, after all. 

Alycia's considering it. 

But there's something intoxicating about Eliza's mouth, and if she never gets to do this again, Alycia wants to lose herself in the taste of her. 

*  
After, Eliza's out again. Gentle snores under Alycia's favorite blanket, looking enviably peaceful. 

Alycia heads to the fridge, pours a glass of the straw-colored bubbles and knocks it back. It's smooth like honey down her throat and she's grateful for the initial chill and the growing heat. She pours another glass and stares at the rising bubbles. 

See: she's certain of two things. This is a thing, whatever it is, and she has no idea where it can go. 

These are things that Alycia knows how to fight for: a career, an image. What tethers her to this earth is more than that, much more, but she also chose this life and all its rewards and all its costs. It's not like she can seriously fall in love with this amazing woman, not without very real consequences. There is distance and reputation to consider. Reality is the coldest of truths.

And hope is not an option.

"Leashy," Eliza calls from the other room, her voice slurred with sleepiness. "Come back to bed." 

Alycia puts the glass down and breathes until her heart slows to a steady, quiet rhythm. 

*  
_Oh my god, I love her. I just saw her the other day. She's in LA at the moment, so we've been catching up, having coffees and she's become one of my closest friends. I love her._

#


End file.
